Without turning her head, out of the side of her glance, she watched Jack walking towards Mr. Nadin. They talked, Mr. Nadin all the time shredding out little clots of grass, tossing it here and there. After five minutes Jack walked to where an extra pikel was jabbed in the earth. Plucking it up he went back and began to work alongside the farmer. They talked, and at times the talk became so interesting that they both stopped and seemed to argue. Flo wondered what it was about; and then back into her mind came drifting what Jack had said about tedding and rolling. She remembered the thrush and remembrance of his exultant song brought back some of the April morning’s freshness. She looked about and contrasted it with the grey stillness of the summer day, and found herself agreeing that it was not quite so good, not quite so good as spring, because, as Jack had said, it lacked the eagerness and promise. She was sure that none of the others would have thought of that. She was glad that Jack had told her. She glanced again, and now he was walking back to the gate. Calculating that if Jack was going to Moss she might get to the willows and round and be back at the lane as he passed, she slapped the reins along Colonel’s undulating back. Colonel lurched a little quicker; the paddles hummed, and the drying grass rustled like falling leaves. And as Jack passed she reached the hedge and called out:
“You’re right; I think rolling’s better, too.”
He grinned understanding, but shouted back: “Tedding’s non bad either.” He gave his queer salute. “See you some more.”
“Yes,” said Flo, and after that she kept on till all the swaths were gone and the whole field was spread as with a green-blue web.
Chapter 17
At dinner Flo learned what the farmer and Jack had been discussing. The farmer mentioned it as soon as he got in.
“What d’you think Jack’s latest is? Bin tellin’ me how ta mek hay.”
“We’re doin’ it all wrong, I bet,” said Clem.
“Wastin’ our time, he says. ‘You dunna think as we shake it about for fun, done you?’ I axed ’im. ‘Dry it without shakin’ it so much,’ ’e says. ‘How con you?’ I said. ‘If weather’s good, turn it once in th’ swath an’ then get it in,’ says ’e. ‘The quicker the better.’”
Mr. Nadin looked at his sons and then at his wife and daughter and Flo in turn.
“His father were daft an’ ’e teks after ’im,” said Mrs. Nadin promptly, as if there was nothing else to be said.
“What’s his argument? He had one no doubt . . . out of a book.” Bert popped in a chestnut-sized pickled onion, graunched it twice, and went on graunching and talking at the same time, “He’s a beggar for books.”
“Some as ’as no sense tries ta get it that way,” said Mrs. Nadin.
“He says as there’s a sort of varnish on th’ stalks. When they’re shook up it cracks an’ then th’ stuff’s spoiled,” the farmer explained rather laboriously. “Ay, he said as ’e’d read it somewheer.”
Flo got the impression that Mr. Nadin was really worried; obviously he was stubborn, determined to keep to his own methods, yet he had been impressed and had spoken hoping that one of the boys might know more about it. “I dunna see ’ow you con dry it properly ’bout shakin’ it out,” he finished, almost as if trying to convince himself.
“Oh, he’s allus gettin’ ideas,” said Clem.
“Trouble is, he doesna follow ’em out; allus on ta something fresh,” said Bert, reaching his glass and taking a deep drink.
“I know it loses seeds if it’s non cut just reet’; if ’e’d argued about that I could ’a understood,” complained Mr. Nadin.
“Hech,” broke in Mrs. Nadin testily, “it’s hay outside an’ hay in; let’s have a change.”
Nobody seemed to be able to think of anything else and the meal ended in silence.
In the afternoon Flo was shown how to draw the hay into wind-rows. The rake had a foot-lever and a hand-lever to be used together, only she was forced to do all by hand. There was a good crop, and she was kept at it reaching down and pulling on the handle. The long curved tines swung up, clearing themselves, then clashed down and groped again along the ground. It was harder for Colonel, too, and Flo could not control him well with one hand, so that the windrows suggested tremendous caterpillars with convulsions. She was ashamed of them. At half-past five Mr. Nadin stopped her. It was cow-time. She was glad of the rest because her ankle was aching again. The farmer and Dot milked as well, but the boys kept on in the field. Getting at the end of a wind-row they tucked their pikels in and shoved, tobogganing the hay along till the weight stopped them, and then making it up into neat conical lumps. Mr. Nadin kept going to the gate. Once Flo heard him shout:
“Na, Bert, mek it proper; they’ll non shed water.”
What reply he got she did not know, but he came back muttering. Dot was in a bad temper also, and Flo began to understand why haytime was so disliked. The farmer and the boys worked till ten, and when Flo looked out of her window the field was covered with humps which in the dusk looked as if some gigantic moles had thrown up their hills all over. She remembered the swaths of the morning, and was surprised when she counted the times in the day that the look of the field had been completely changed.
At ten next morning the weather broke. A fine drizzle like a cloud came up the valley from the west.
“Fine-weather rain,” said Clem. He went off in the float with Colonel to get a new shoe, one having been kicked off during the raking, though Flo hadn’t noticed.
Bert got his gun. Mr. Nadin went with him, but only to the gate, where he looked over the field which in the greyness looked disconsolate. He stayed there ten minutes. Hearing Flo going to the wash-house he turned and said, “Damn good job we got it coiled,” and at once turned to stare over the gate again. Half an hour later Flo saw him with a spade and a mattock going to open a drain that had choked in Three Oaks. He could not go far away from the hay field.
In the afternoon Flo was surprised to hear Mrs. Nadin say, “If you want to goo out, goo. When th’ weather’s fit agen the old fool’ll be like a slave-driver.”
Although Flo’s foot had gone easier in the night, she decided to write home; but then thought that if she didn’t go out Mrs. Nadin might give her more darning, which had already thoroughly bored her. So knowing that she could not walk far she put her old coat on over her working frock, intending to idle round the lake. She went slowly along the lane. Just as she was level with the boat-house Bert came out. He seemed surprised and called, “Hello, where are you off?”
She told him, “Nowhere special,” and he answered, “I promised you a trip; now’s your chance.”
He selected two oars and carried them under his arm into the boat-house. There was a skiff alongside, and he told her to step in. He gave a powerful shove from the stage and they forged backward from under the pointed roof. Skilfully and easily he manœuvred round and rowed with leisurely rhythm. Flo felt in the bottom of a hollow as she looked up at the great grey-green farmhouse, so unfamiliar from there. The drizzle flowed down on them, and beyond the immediate shores everywhere looked grey and soaked. Beside the willows Bert balanced the oars in the rowlocks and let the boat drift and there was silence. Fine as the rain was, Flo fancied that she heard the faintest sizzling as it met the placid surface. Bert saw to the spinners on his rods, then whipped them in a circle over his head and let them drop lightly astern one after the other. He told Flo how to hold the rods, and she was to report the least suggestion of a snatch. He began to row again, and she felt the slight vibration of the lines and was thrilled, expecting every moment to hook something about as big as a whale. Only nothing happened. They came to the first arm and went slowly across. Flo was excited to see a slim grey bird about a yard high leap off the mud at the far end and go in a swirl to the top of the willows. Its wings looked black and tremendous. Above the bushes the bird flapped slowly and seemed to fly with great ease.